


Borne Aloft

by BensLostTookaCat (VillainTheBlank)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Blood Magic, Draws heavily on The Book of the Dead, F/M, First Time, Force Bond (Star Wars), Fusion of Ancient Egyptian Religion and the Force, HEA, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Less Orpheus and Eurydice, More Isis and Osiris, Pregnancy, Resurrection, Rey & PT character, Rey rescues Ben from the Underworld, Ritual Magic, Shapeshifting, Sheev Palpatine gets his just desserts, Though Ben only died the once, Unprotected Sex, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey (Star Wars), additional platonic relationship untagged for spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:06:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainTheBlank/pseuds/BensLostTookaCat
Summary: A mysterious voice has called Rey to Tatooine after the death of Ben Solo and the defeat of the First/Final Order. Once she's there, a ghostly guide offers to take Rey through the Underworld to save Ben and return him to the world of the living.
Relationships: BB-8 & Rey, Finn & Rey (Star Wars), Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23
Collections: For one is both and both are one in love: The Reylo Fanfiction Anthology's Valentine's Day Exchange





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xochiquetzl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xochiquetzl/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1000 thanks to my loves on the GFFA Discord, whose constant encouragement was of the utmost help!  
> [The Queen of Carrot Flowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfCarrotFlowers) is a gracious and generous queen, and she made me a beautiful moodboard to go with this story! Thank you!!  
> [flypaper_brain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flypaper_brain) is my outrageously lovely beta.

* * *

Rey had learned, long ago, how to hear the song of the wind, to hear the words that the breath of the goddess carried across the weathered face of a desert land, and to separate the message from the howls of the messenger. The _X’us R’iia_ sang of death from life and life from death, the wheel itself turned by the winds of the divine, the breath scouring away the old and revealing the new. It did not matter that the breath was on Tatooine rather than Jakku; the song remained the same, and for all she knew, R’iia was the goddess and patroness of all the planets like these. 

At first, Rey had thought to return to Jakku in order to listen to the song once more, to seek the goddess’ guidance, and perhaps to learn her secrets. Jakku, however, held no ties to Ben Solo, other than herself. This land, though appearing equally barren, held the memory of the Skywalkers within its depthless dunes--held the bones of the first Skywalker beneath its shifting sands. She had prayed that after everything the Force and the ancient Jedi had put her through, it might feel some tiny niggling of obligation to let her win for once, or at least to pursue her goals unhindered. She had set her course for Tatooine with nothing more than a feeling and that vague hope.

The planet Tatooine was the almost-unvarying ball of sand that Rey had expected, but she hadn’t anticipated feeling the warm, maternal presence that wrapped itself around her as soon as she made atmosphere. It clung to her, lulled her, soothed something deep within that she hadn’t known _could_ be soothed. She _had_ been mildly disturbed when she had opened her mouth to name herself ‘just Rey,’ but had called herself a Skywalker instead; the presence, however, seemed satisfied by this, and Rey had basked in the feeling.

Now, she was sitting on the shady side of a dome on the old Lars’ homestead, having chased off the few beasts and lone squatter who had taken up shelter there, and settling into a comfortable pose to meditate. A series of bleeps and whoops broke into her train of thought as BeeBee Eight rolled up to her.

“Don’t worry,” she told the little droid, reaching over to give its round base an affectionate pat. “I’m alright.”

The droid let out a single, querying whistle, and Rey shook her head.

“No, there’s no need to comm the Resistance. I already told them I need some time.”

More than anything, Rey needed time. She needed time to acknowledge the depth of her own wounding, to say nothing of the wounds inflicted in the Force and to the entire galaxy. Deep within her, Rey could feel the wounds of the galaxy’s past--the wounds inflicted by Darth Sidious--like a broken bone, and she knew that the victory of the Resistance, like the victory of the Rebellion before it, might be little more than a momentary relief; if the past was not set properly, the future would be forever crippled by it. Leia had understood this, though whether it was simply political common sense or the Force, Rey hadn’t been sure. Now that Leia was gone, though, it seemed to Rey that it _must_ have been the Force, moving within Leia, that had given her that understanding--meaning that Rey was the only one left alive who could even begin to grapple with the task. 

BeeBee processed Rey’s request for a moment, then it rolled forward, giving her a gentle bump that seemed almost affectionate. She smiled, though all her smiles these days were tinged with sadness.

Rey needed time to figure out what the Force wanted from her, what the galaxy needed, what she herself needed. She could only hope that the Resistance would give that to her.

“I’ll be alright. I have you, after all.”

The droid gave a series of sounds that could only be interpreted as proud, and it even seemed to straighten up slightly.

“Exactly,” Rey nodded, and the droid rolled just outside of arms’ reach, its dome swivelling and optical processor whirring softly as it took up a sort of watch while Rey sat and listened. Like yesterday, however, her listening yielded little but a hum, perhaps louder today than the day before. 

The presence that had called her to Tatooine was more easily felt at night. It was under the moonlight, in dreams, that she heard a gentle voice that was almost familiar.

 _Child…  
_ _Daughter of Sun and Sand…_

It was in dreams on the _Falcon_ at night that Rey wandered the sands, calling out for a mother she could not quite find, the voice getting nearer but never found. When she would wake up, she felt that same presence, soothing away the terrors of the night, though it could not quell the anxious loneliness.

* * *

The comm that came in as she was preparing for bed on the Falcon a few nights later told her that her hope for time was apparently in vain; though Leia’s rank might have passed to Poe, her understanding clearly had not, and it seemed that the Resistance could not be without Rey, The Last Jedi and Galactic Hero, even for a laughably short period.

“Finn, I’ve only been recuperating for five days!” Rey exclaimed, exasperated both at the request and at the fact that Poe had asked Finn to make it, presumably because she would have a harder time saying no to Finn. 

“I know, Rey,” Finn huffed, jaw clenched. “A lot of us are nursing wounds, but you mean more to the galaxy than any of us do.”

“That’s just not true, Finn! Anyone can be a hero! You don’t have to have the Force, you don’t have to be a Jedi, you don’t have to be a Sk--” She clamped her mouth shut, and felt a prickle of shame. No, she hadn’t taken the name of Skywalker to be a hero--she hadn’t even taken it on purpose!--but it felt like a hypocritical thing to say.

Finn looked away at something off-screen, then back to Rey. His eyes narrowed.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Rey pursed her lips.

“Like what?”

“Like what you’re doing on Tatooine, for one. I thought you were finally going back to Jakku.” The little near-eyeroll and shake of his head should have been a humorous reminder of when they met, but in the face of everything she had learned over the last week, it fell very, very flat. 

“What do you mean?” she growled, a cornered krayt dragon.

“Rey, we know the Falcon’s coordinates. We know you’re on Tatooine.”

A blat of protest, followed by an angry whistle, emanated from the little droid before the transmission was cut off. Rey blinked.

“That was a bit rude, don’t you think?”

A long stream of rather colorful binary caused Rey to quirk an eyebrow.

“You spent too much time with Artoo,” she said, though her smile was genuine.

The droid replied with a string of beeps that was almost melancholy.

“I know, me too,” Rey lamented, patting its dome gently. “It's not our fault they put a tracker on board.”

Although she had been preparing for sleep when the urgent comm had come in, her fighting instincts were wide awake now. Sleep, it seemed, would have to wait. She stood up, put her boots back on, and was striding toward the door when she heard BeeBee rolling after her. She turned back. 

“I need a moment, BeeBee. I’m just going to step outside, get some air. I want you to connect to the Falcon and scrub for tracking devices, and then power down, alright?” 

The droid acquiesced with a hum, heading back toward the cockpit. She waited for the lights of the Falcon to dim, then walked down the gangway and raised it behind her before heading toward the homestead. Once there, she settled in her newly-accustomed meditation spot, closing her eyes and opening her mind to guidance. The cool stillness of night settled against Rey’s skin, a delicate breeze tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. The breeze turned into a gentle whisper.

_Rey._

A beetle burrowed into the sand nearby. The creatures of the night sang their nocturnes. The peace of the desert at rest flowed through her, and, melding her energies with their own, Rey instinctively reached out with her feelings. _I’m here,_ she thought. _I’m listening._

“Daughter of the Dune Sea, child of sand and stars, welcome to my home,” said the voice from Rey’s dreams -- a voice that was as warm and real as could be. 

Rey’s eyes flew open, and she perceived the face and form of a woman, wrapped in a simple dress that appeared to be made of grey mist and stars. Rey stood slowly, carefully, and covered her heart with her hand, carefully dipping her head in greeting without taking her eyes off of the apparition. The woman’s face was careworn but kindly, and she smiled at the young warrior.

“You have been through so much hardship,” the woman sighed. “You know what is to lose the one you hold closest to your heart.”

Rey’s breath stuttered, her inhale suddenly shaky, as she watched tendrils of light, almost vaporous, stream between her and the older woman. She expected to feel her life force draining away once more, but instead felt invigorated, supported.

“Who are you?”

“A servant. A queen. A mother,” the maybe-apparition replied, all three answers seeming to come at once. “Who I am, or was, doesn’t matter all that much right now. We are running out of time to save him.”

Every hair on Rey’s body stood on end, and she was so lost to the moment, to that spark of hope, that she felt as though she were floating.

 _“Ben…”_ Rey gasped, and she looked at the woman, tears in her eyes. “But he’s--” she choked on the words-- _“gone._ He vanished before my eyes!”

The woman, who was more form than shape now, nodded sagely, her outline still limned in an almost iridescent green.

“And left you all alone,” she agreed, then looked at Rey with a twinkle in her eye. “But no one’s ever really gone.”

The woman seemed to hover, floating toward Rey gently. 

“You hear the song of the wind, the breath of the goddess,” she said, and Rey nodded. “You know that the song holds the secret to life from death. I am here to help you sing it.”

“Me?” she asked, incredulous. “Sing the _X'us R'iia?_ Not that I ever really believed in the gods, but… surely only _they_ can sing it.”

The being nodded in affirmation, and her voice was infused with both concern and command.

“Only those with the spark of divinity can even _hear_ the song--if you may hear it, you may sing it. Come with me to the Underworld, Rey. He can still turn from the path of his own destruction. I'll help you.” 

The inflection of those last words… she flashed back to an elevator on a doomed ship what felt like a lifetime ago. Rey extended her hand decisively.

“Lead me,” she entreated, unafraid.

Rey felt as if she was both standing in a sandstorm and sinking below the surface; it had a way of making one feel blasted clean and a little raw. Her guide, fully corporeal now, and limned in gold-green light, her gown truly a thing of mist and stars, gripped her hand reassuringly and gave her a kind smile. Suggestions of shadows flitted around them; most of them were devoid of sense or feeling, but those who were not were invariably despondent. Almost instinctively, Rey moved toward them, healing hand outstretched, only to feel something much like the Force freezing her in place.

“Little goddess, your compassion has always been your strength, but these--” her guide used her free hand to gesture widely as she pulled Rey in close-- “are beyond even our help.” 

Rey heard rather than felt her footsteps away from the fleeting shades, felt herself being guided upon a different path. 

“They are the shadows of those who have lost their way. No soul may return to the world above until they have made peace with their own demise, and even then, not unless the world above is prepared for them and they are guided back to it. Were they to return as they are now, they would perish beneath Tatoo’s piercing eyes, and for you to give them hopes that you cannot fulfill would be cruel beyond measure.”

Rey recoiled, but did not stop the tear that ran down her cheek at the horror of it. To her bewilderment and surprise, the guide pulled out a small vial and scooped up Rey’s tear, then hung the vial around Rey's neck.

“What’s that?”

“Tears are powerful,” the guide smiled, as if that was a sufficient explanation. When Rey merely looked puzzled, she continued, “In good time, I promise you will understand. Do you trust me still? Or do you wish to turn back?”

Rey shook her head.

“No turning back, but… please, tell me your name, or at least something that I can call you,” Rey begged. The woman before her was the only illumination in the engulfing darkness, though Rey felt certain she would have followed either way. “I know you said up there that who you are isn’t important, but it’s important to me. _Everyone_ deserves to have a name, even if it’s one they choose themselves.”

Her guide stopped, turning to look Rey in the face, and instead of giving an answer, she embraced the younger woman, delight and approval flowing through her. When she pulled back, Rey’s eyes widened, and she knew her guide for exactly who she was. The older woman nodded.

“Sh--”

The woman put a solid finger to Rey’s lips.

“Not here. None of these may have the power of our names--or his.”

Rey didn’t _understand,_ exactly, but knew better than to argue or question. As the pair continued in silence, the terrain around them gradually changed from dark and formless yawning caves to a running river filled with boats waiting to be granted passage. Even in a place as gloomy as this, the running water drew Rey's attention. 

“You must not,” Shmi chided softly, as if Rey were an errant toddler, and the younger woman felt a pang. Had her own mother ever been so tender with her? 

“Where are we? I mean, obviously we’re in the Underworld, but… what _is_ it? What's in the water?”

“It is Chaos. Creation and destruction. The beginning and the end. No mortal can hold their form against it.”

Though curious, she kept her distance, craning her neck around Shmi, who seemed to float above the turbulent stream. As she looked closer, she saw that the boats were divided from one another by rope barriers that crossed the stream. Cold dread crept in her belly as they approached a bend in the stream where a hooded, robed figure sat in a boat, radiating an aura of pure menace. Her guide squeezed her hand, suddenly yanking Rey into a hidden alcove as the hooded figure began a low, wheezing chuckle. That laugh… that _he_ still existed, in any capacity, and _laughed!_ Rey reached for the lightsaber that wasn’t there, and froze on realizing she carried no weapon. Rage boiled through her veins, hatred seething and churning to the surface. Her anger, though, was no match for the firm, yet tender love of the being beside her.

“You have already done your part, in your warrior aspect, sending him here, Now, you must watch carefully,” Shmi soothed, stroking Rey’s face until her jaw unclenched. “Bear witness to the fate of one who refuses to accept his own mortality.”

Silently, slowly at first and then faster, the ropes began to _move,_ the woven pattern resolving into scales that shimmered crimson in the flickering light of unseen torches. Rey was nearly hypnotized as she watched them close in around his boat. The head of an enormous serpent, venom dripping from bared fangs, reared above the now-screaming figure, whose raised hands were unable to conjure even a whiff of ozone, let alone the lightning for which he had been so feared. As Rey held her breath, her every muscle quivering and straining in the presence of her mortal enemy, the snake struck, and the boat rocked gently, its occupant gone. If there was a wicked smile on Rey’s lips, it is as much as could be expected from someone who had been as deeply wounded as she.

“What will happen to him now?”

“Most of the dead pass this way, are judged, and then return to the world above through their kin, keeping the web of life and death in balance. Some of the dead, though, refuse to accept their own mortality, making them unfit to stand before the Throne of Judgement. These are devoured by Unnrah, the Soul Eater, and slowly digested until their self-centered attachments finally dissolve, so that the energy that was once their souls can return to the web of all things. They are then free to be reborn in whatever form the Force requires to maintain balance in the universe.” 

Shmi was wearing a smile to match Rey’s, a wrath in her dark eyes that was shocking to behold. 

“There is a comfort, however cold, in knowing that he will likely never again wear a human form, never make a family suffer as he made mine and countless others in the galaxy. Though it is impossible to obliterate every trace of his energy, the more he struggles, the longer he will suffer, and the less of him that will remain.”

Rey smirked, a touch of malice in her curved lips.

“I’d be surprised if there was enough soul left over for a sand flea by the time he’s done.” Rey wrinkled her nose. “I hope Unnrah can’t get indigestion.”

The goddesses laughed, their wrath diffused by absurd mockery. Shmi’s laugh trailed off to a resigned smile that Rey had felt so often on her own face, and she gestured toward the boats.

“Before my power could reach you, I watched _him_ pass through these gates; he knew full well the price for your life, and paid it without hesitation. Thus, he had nothing to fear here.”

“I’m sorry,” Rey said, suddenly reaching into the well of grief deeper than tears could wash away. “Even after all of the ways I hurt him, he still _did that_ to save me.”

“Oh my dear,” Shmi replied, her melancholy smile brightening until she was aglow with love. “Thank _you_ for saving him from what undid my boy, for healing his soul as well as his body. Life from death is trivial, in comparison.”

As they passed through that place of trial and began to climb a winding path upward, Rey pondered the matriarch's words. At last, when Shmi had led her to a bluff high enough to overlook the pathway of the souls toward the Final Judgment, she crossed her arms, watching the careful procession of the dead. Some were illuminated by flickering light, others slipped through shadow, and a low drone teased Rey’s ears, just outside of hearing.

“I don’t quite understand; if you're not afraid of his soul being destroyed because he accepted…” Rey trailed off, something inside her clamping down on her tongue before it could pronounce Ben dead. “If he… how… what will we save him _from,_ if he’s already past the Soul Eater?”

“He is not completely safe from Unnrah yet; it is the Final Judgment that poses the greatest danger to his spirit.”

“How can that be,” Rey protested, “when he has been through so much? He already died as Kylo and came back as--” Rey faltered, remembering Shmi’s warning about names-- “as his true self!”

Shmi’s deep brown eyes bored into Rey’s light ones.

“At the Final Judgment, his heart will be weighed and measured, and made to confess his crimes. Who is his most implacable enemy? Who tallies his crimes the most harshly and is the least likely to ever forgive him?” 

Rey shuddered under the intensity of Shmi’s gaze, beginning to grasp the extent of the danger.

“Himself…” she whispered.

“If his heart is too heavy, filled with the weight of guilt, then it is his heart, not his spirit, that will be devoured by the Soul Eater, and his spirit will be left to wander the Wastes. There, it will either take the essence of weaker souls or be taken in turn by another, until something becomes strong enough to stand judgement before the Throne, and be reborn as a new soul.”

Shmi paused to take a steadying breath, her visage stony, and Rey was struck by how much more there was to Shmi than the nurturing, sorrowing, forbearing, selfless mother. She had seen the older woman’s anger, and now she was seeing that Shmi had a core of durasteel. Rey spared a moment to pity little Anakin, had he ever earned such a look as this. 

“There are limits to even my forbearance, and will _not_ watch the utter destruction of my family! That is why I called you here, and why you felt it right to take my name; you are his love, his partner, and his mate, and we must return him to the world above before he destroys himself. Simply because _he_ believes destruction is what he deserves it does not mean that _we_ must,” Shmi declared, “and because of who and what _we_ are, we know that there are ways to reclaim what is ours, if we have the love, will, and wisdom to do so.”

Rey bristled, determination setting her jaw and bringing a feral gleam to her eye. 

“Do you see him?” Shmi prompted.

Rey reached out with her heart, then opened her eyes. A red and silver cord, pulsing with gentle light and soft shadows, threaded its way down, ethereal and yet material, twisting and winding its way toward a shape that, on second glance, looked very out of place among his less-substantial fellows. He was so close now to the seat of judgment, as what looked like a dark-furred canid Bothan reached toward his heart to remove it; was she too late?

“Ben!” Rey shrieked, as she felt a sharp, lancing pain in her chest. Before she could think too much about the relative sanity of what she was doing, she leapt. All sound disappeared in a whisper of slate blue feathers, and a pair of sleek, predatory birds emerged from the shadows. Wings tucked, bodies streamlined, they streaked toward the large man at dizzying speed as he stood before the scales of the Lord of the Dead.

Rey had only to think it, and her body changed again, her wings rapidly burgeoning to support the weight and proportions of a more human form. Her guide and companion threw her own wings wide, her raptorous scream staking her claim, warding off the Bothan's questing fingers. Then, Shmi wheeled in the air with another cry, ascending back to safety.

Rey ignored the searing pain in her chest, and wrapped her arms around the torso of her beloved as her wings beat furiously. The pair lifted off of the ground, and her keen eyes found Shmi's retreating form. She followed her guide back up, up, up.

 _Hold on to me, Ben,_ she thought at him desperately, too focused on flying to speak. When it came down to it, she wasn’t even certain she _had_ a voice; she might have had arms and legs, but her preternaturally good sight suggested she might not have a human head. 

Either way, Ben appeared to have heard her; he clung to her tightly, his substantial form blessedly light, and after what seemed like an eternity, they alighted back on the plateau.

 _You must hold on to him tightly,_ Shmi instructed Rey. _He is not alive, not quite, but down here, he is animate. That will not be true once we return to the surface. He will be solid, but his soul will not be embodied until the song is complete._

Rey moved to follow and hissed, finally conscious of the piercing agony in her chest. She looked down to find a sprig of some kind of flowering plant there, a trail of sticky red oozing from the dark wood. With a grunt of pain, she arranged his body so that she was supporting him beneath his shoulders, and followed the beating of Shmi’s wings, and the occasional haunting cry. When they burst up through the sands, Rey found that Ben’s foremother hadn’t exaggerated the difficulty of ascent; Ben’s form was rapidly becoming dead weight. She struggled to bear him up, at last hauling his body to rest in a tiny oasis beneath a thin darkwood tree. The light of the moons, waxing to fullness, shed a haunting silver light glow that dripped through the blossoms like pearlescent dew.

Ben’s form was cold alabaster, his skin naked and almost completely unmarred, but his body still bearing every broken bone and dislocated joint that had helped to sever him from her. As she drew on the moonlight, the shifting sand, and the structure of the stem and flower that protruded from her own breast, she felt the Force flowing through her, empowered, yes, but also forming, rather than formless. She began from the foundation up, feeling through the energy flow the breaks in his left leg; the fragmentation of his pelvic bone; the sturdy ribs that had nonetheless snapped in two under the power of his fall; the jumbled, jagged wreckage of his spine; the thin, spidery fractures in his skull. 

Had he not used the Force to slow his momentum?

Worse still, had he?

She guided his bones to remember the feeling of wholeness, of health and vitality, and lovingly praised them as they knit together, while Shmi began a slow dirge. The matriarch called on Those Who Part the Veil to allow the Wind to come and bear witness, to bear the words of the goddess who turns the wheel, she who is called R’iia, Dread Mother, the Daughter, and by many other names. The wind gently kissed the blossoms of the tree as Rey ran her fingers through the silken ink atop his head. A touch of her thumbs wiped away the cuts and bruises on his beautiful, marble face, and the howling of the wind guided her and whispered encouragement in the moments of her doubting. Heeding the whispers, she pulled the black wood sprig from her own breast, the gummy, crimson resin and her heartsblood indistinguishable. This she smeared across his left breast, where his heart lay beneath, and the wound in her chest pulled itself closed, leaving a matching red streak over her own heart.

As the wind around her picked up, she stood, adding the beating of her own wings to serve as guide and push the breath into his body, and she sang the words that flowed through her as the _X’us R’iia_ galed around her.

 _I unite your limbs  
_ _I hold your discharges together  
_ _I surround your flesh  
_ _I drive out the fluids of your decay_

 _I sweep away your bow  
_ _I wipe away your tears  
_ _I heal all your limbs, each being united with the other  
_ _I surround you with the work of the weaving goddess_

 _I complete you and form you as Ben Organa Solo,  
_ _Son of Han Solo and Leia Organa,  
G_ _randson of Anakin Skywalker and Padme Naberrie,  
_ _Great-grandson of Shmi Skywalker._

_I bestow upon you the breath of life_  
_I return to you the spark of intellect_  
_I anoint you with my blood and tears_  
_I charge you to return to me!_

Alighting on the ground as her wings lowered, Rey removed the vial from around her neck, and poured the shimmering droplets into Ben’s mouth. Color stole through his body, driving away his deathly paleness, and his eyes slowly opened, their rich brown hues sending shocks of hope through Rey’s body. She quivered, her hands fisted in front of her mouth, her feathers trembling in the moonlight.

Ben looked at her, bleary-eyed, and his voice was croaky.

“Are you… an angel?”

“Ben!” she cried, and leapt upon him, embracing him with her entire body and curling her wings around him protectively. She kissed his forehead-- “Ben!”-- his eyes-- “my Ben!” -- and hovered above his lips, tears falling freely.

He lifted his hand, caressing her cheek, and looked into her shining eyes in disbelief.

“Rey?”

“It’s me,” she sobbed, grasping for him, suddenly unable to feel enough of him. “I came back for you.”

“Rey--” he breathed, grinning, and leaned up to kiss her. If Rey’s had been the kiss of life, Ben’s was another kind of kiss entirely. She groaned into his mouth as she returned it, relief and joy mingling into desire, and their close brush with eternal separation gave that desire no small sense of urgency, which soon blossomed into a victorious lust. His newly-restored hands roamed her body, caressing her breasts and squeezing her hips atop him, and she pulled back from the kiss to marvel at his restored body. 

Suddenly remembering that they were likely not alone, Rey turned back to look at Shmi, who was once again incorporeal. Ben’s foremother wore a beatific smile, and she crouched to address her great-grandson.

“You have my Ani’s goodness, Ben,” she said, reaching over to caress his right cheek with motherly love. “I’m proud of you. Take this chance and be _happy_ with it.”

Ben, supine and covered only by Rey and her wings, blushed to the tips of his ears. His mouth opened and closed once, twice, and he settled for a firm nod.

“You know the way home, little goddess,” she said to Rey. “Linger here a while, in the space between, as my gift to the two of you, but you cannot stay forever.”

Rey’s hand pressed over her heart as she looked over at Shmi, and her tears began to fall again.

“This can’t be goodbye!” Rey panicked. 

“No, my dear, but…” Shmi looked at the two of them pointedly. “There are places where my presence would cause a great deal less embarrassment for everyone, don’t you think?”

“Thank you,” Rey said. “For everything.”

“My sweet daughter, I should be the one thanking you.” Shmi stood up, and began to fade away. “You both take care of one another.”

“We will!” Rey shouted back to no one.

Once they had felt her presence fade, Ben looked at Rey and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“‘Little Goddess?’”

Rey simply waggled her wings at him, arching a skeptical eyebrow. 

“You didn't think these came standard on humans, did you?”

He ran a finger along the tips of her feathers, his expression both probing and attentive, and she shivered. It was the look he'd given her the first time their bond had brought them together. 

“Ow!” he pouted, as she gave his bare nipple the gentlest of tweaks, then his breath hitched as she reached down to soothe the insult with a swipe of her tongue. 

“Less thinking, more kissing, please.”

“As my little goddess commands,” he breathed, his baritone somehow both supplication and divine favor. 

He did so much more than kiss her, there beneath the tree. Keeping her perched atop him, he ran his hands over her smooth, bare skin, lips teasing the peaks of her breasts and fingertips the soft curls of her cleft. 

She couldn't help admiring her handiwork, reaching down to caress his face, running her fingers through his hair, and leaning back to tease him with gentle strokes of her fingers against his arousal.

Through the bond, he could feel how his solidity between her thighs, warm, real, and whole, reassured her; she could sense that her weight atop him grounded him, convinced him that this was no illusion, no hellish torment. There, clothed only in moonlight, they laid one another bare. They needed no words, only one another as she leaned down to kiss him, nearly stealing away the breath she had granted him; he didn’t seem to mind, returning her kiss with interest as he pulled her against his growing hardness. She rocked against him, letting her hands explore him freely even as her own perception seemed to narrow to a single point.

Neither Rey, in her spartan upbringing, nor even Ben in all his early romanticism, could really claim that they understood or appreciated the euphemism of ‘making love.’ It had seemed to him like the smarmy sort of thing that a rake who thought very highly of his own prowess would say. She had never seen what love had to do with it in the first place; for most of the people around her, it was scratching a physical itch, and no more. Here, though, in this place outside of place and time beyond time, they learned what it was to use one’s body to express not only lust or desire, but also love--the kind of deep, self-sacrificing love that they both embodied. 

As their bodies moved together in ways both earthy and mystical, their bond sang, golden filaments weaving throughout their consciousnesses. When at last they were utterly spent and supremely contented, Rey stood on shaky legs, and gestured him to follow. He stood slowly, learning to find his balance once more in this form, and embraced Rey, kissing her. She closed her wings around him, and the sand blew, swirling around them, as the last traces of divine magic took them back to the abode of the living.

The next day, Rey awoke to find herself in the captain’s quarters of the _Falcon,_ and nearly burst into tears when she thought the entire thing might have been a cruel dream. Her lonely despair was cut short by the feeling of Ben curled around her, his gigantic form molding to hers and his deep breaths tickling the baby hairs on her arm. She rolled to face him and stroked his cheek, laying a kiss on his brow before leaning back to take a better look at him. He was a beautiful, carven giant, a marble titan, and running her fingers over his warm, breathing body, varyingly hard and soft, yet every inch pulsing with life, made her soul sing. The beating of his heart was a call-and-response to hers, and together they lay, bodies and souls singing. 

A sudden shift had Ben hovering over Rey on all fours. The heat in his eyes could have melted durasteel, but there was love, too, and awe, and gratitude. His kiss was heated, his touch even hotter, and she welcomed all of it, all of him. This was hers, now, and she was going to be able to make the life for herself that she had only allowed herself to begin dreaming about when it had been so cruelly ripped from her.

“Shh,” he said, caressing her temple. “Why make yourself unhappy when that’s our past, not our future?”

“I… You’re right, but… life taught me, for so long, that everything can be taken away.” She paused, then smiled cunningly. “Taking it back meant everything to me. I owe it all to Shmi.”

Ben jerked, as if startled. 

“Shmi… Skywalker?” 

“Yes. She was the one who called me to Tatooine. She guided me through the trials to rescue you, and helped me to bring you back. We… we almost didn’t make it in time…”

Ben choked.

_“That was my great-grandmother?!”_

He flopped down on his side, his crimson face, neck, and ears quickly buried in his hands. 

“Karking hells…” he groaned, utterly mortified, then peeked out from between his fingers. “Ani! She said _Ani!”_

“Told you you had his goodness, if I recall, though I think she might be the only one who saw it in him…”

He pulled her into his chest and stroked her hair, her shoulder, and her back.

“Nevermind.” Ben shook his head, then turned a smile on Rey that had her breathless. “The future is much more interesting than the past.”

She laughed, and then his tongue turned her laughter into breathless panting, and Rey had no mind for the past or the future--only her present bliss.

It didn’t take long for the other occupant of the _Falcon_ to notice that something was amiss. With a panicked _boo-eeep!,_ BeeBee Eight charged up to the door of Rey’s quarters, beating his metal body against it. She opened the door with a thought, and her little mechanical defender came blaring in. He launched into a stream of angry binary, giving Rey the lecture of a lifetime, while his shock prod was aimed threateningly at Ben, who was making a good job of looking intimidating despite being rumpled and only half-covered with a sheet.

“BeeBee, stop!” Rey cried, a hand raised. “I know you’re upset, and you’re not wrong!”

The droid halted, as if stunned, then blurbled a sad-sounding stream of binary.

“I promise, BeeBee, I’ll tell you everything. First things first, I didn’t mean to be gone so long, but as you can see, I’m just fine.”

His optical sensor whirred, somehow managing to sound skeptical in even his most basic mechanical functions. He let out an unimpressed whistle.

“I promise, I’m fine, and so is he. He, by the way,” Rey pressed on, her brain trying to process how to handle this situation with a minimum of property damage, “is Ben Solo. Han and Leia’s son.”

The droid looked at Ben, then back to Rey, then to Ben, then back at Rey. He rolled backward, his shock prod lowering as he processed this new information.

A query.

“I don’t know yet, BeeBee. We’ll have to see, won’t we?” Rey waved toward the atmosphere. “Out there, somewhere, I suppose. You in? Or shall I take you back to Poe?”

A quiet reply.

Rey nodded. 

“I thought as much. Well, we’ll have some breakfast, and see what comes next. Okay?”

“I like the sound of that,” Ben smiled, and the droid regarded him thoughtfully.

The heat of the midday suns saw the _Falcon_ lift off once more, no blasters or Imperial pursuit this time--only peace and a new purpose. Perhaps that would be enough.


	2. Epilogue

The next season after Ben’s resurrection was the hottest part of the year on Tatooine, and Rey could be found working inside the Falcon more often than not. Both their desire to keep a low profile and their connection with Shmi gave them ample reason to reside on Tatooine for a time; they did not feel ready to part with the spirit of Ben’s foremother, who had given them back what the Darkness had tried to steal from them. 

While Rey normally didn’t mind the heat, it had a way of making the nausea and exhaustion of her condition worse. Of course, it hadn’t taken any time at all for the pair to recognize that a family was a likely consequence of their reunion--and sooner, rather than later, given the frequency of that particular act--but when a tiny spark in the Force had made itself known to them mere _weeks_ after their reunification, they were still surprised. With the elation had come doubt, and no small amount of fear. Sometimes, when the fear became too much, Ben would lie awake at night, in terrified vigil over Rey’s belly, lest his child be targeted just as he had been. On these nights, Rey would feel his fear and wake up and sit beside him, and they held one another in the dark. Then, he would get up and make two mugs of Gatalentan starblossom tea. He would trace the wild multi-colored tattoo of wings on her back that had marked her since the pair had returned from the underworld, and she would tell him the story of Unnrah, the Soul Eater, and the fate of Sheev Palpatine. They would fall asleep together, his arm wrapped around her, and each time, his fears grew weaker.

Shmi, of course, had been nothing but delighted by the idea of a new baby, and Rey often found herself sitting in her accustomed meditation spot on the moisture farm (next to Shmi’s grave, as it happened) communing with the great-great-grandmother-to-be. It might have been most of a century since her passing, but not that much about motherhood had changed. Having Shmi as a sort of surrogate mother was one of Rey’s most prized comforts, Ben himself notwithstanding.

Baby or no, it didn’t take long for Rey Skywalker Solo and Ben Organa Solo to figure out what to do with their new leases on life. They resolved to spend part of each year on the Lars’ homestead and moisture farm; it had rightfully been Luke’s on Owen’s and Beru’s passing so many years before, and it in turn would pass down to Luke’s heir. (This was the subject of mocking arguments between the two of them for years, with Ben teasingly referring to Rey as a usurper, and Rey retorting that at least someone carried the name.) Much of the rest of the year, they would be starbound, seeking out the children of war and those of all ages sensitive to the Force, and helping them to find a belonging, whether it was with them or not. Some chose to accompany them back to Tatooine; the simple, ascetic lifestyle that a moisture farm in the middle of the desert offered was appealing to those who needed peace and quiet in their lives from the turmoil that was feeling everything around them, as well as to those who wanted to develop the abilities that their Force sensitivity gave them. (When, on a winter day a year or so later, a small shuttle deposited Finn at their door, Rey’s joy at having her oldest friend become one of her pupils was nearly unmatched, and the sight of little Shmi’s bouncing curls whenever she ran up to ‘Unka Finn!’ for a hug could have melted the heart of a rancor.)

For Ben as well as for Rey, neither of whom had pristine hands after the fall of the First Order, their new mission was both atonement and fulfillment. The pair who had suffered so much and saved one another from the jaws of death finally found belonging they had sought for so long with one another, in an ever-growing family of those who would otherwise have felt lost and alone. At last, it was enough.


End file.
